Welcome Home, Darling
by Kelly Was Here
Summary: A troubled young girl finds herself thrown into the supernatural world when she meets Sam and Dean after discovering the victim of a Wendigo attack. Eager to leave home, she faces new struggles where hope is hard to find, but worth fighting for.
1. Chapter 1

There are some days where escape is necessary, the relief of removing yourself from everyday life and finding a quiet place to sit in the woods and listen to the chirping conversations among birds. Life doesn't have to be detrimental to feel overwhelming. It all depends on the person and their perception of the world. Situations change and people come and go, but this certain spot in the woods always remains the same. My little tree stump surrounded by moss and the pure, untouched flowers that reach towards the sunlight for life is always in the same spot waiting for my return. I like to walk barefoot through my familiar path, guiding me towards my undiscovered haven of green grass and tall trees that remind me how small I really am. I close my eyes and fold my hands together resting on my lap. I could sit here for hours, and sometimes I do, but today, I just needed a few minutes to be away.

Walking back up the street, I can see the dull light coming from the windows of every small suburban house that drags me back to real life. Inside these houses live your stereotypical perfect family. A hardworking yet loving husband and father, a gorgeous trophy wife that cooks and cleans while simultaneously takes care of their adorable and unrealistically smart children and still has time to do her hair and makeup perfectly, and of course let's not forget the pure bred golden retriever that plays fetch with the children during the day and guards the family at night. These cookie cutter houses with these utopian families make me feel sick, not because I hate them, but because I am not one of them. I can picture them all sitting around the table, eating a delicious home cooked meal made by the model wife. They all talk about their day and listen to each other without interrupting, the parents will offer advice for these children's petty problems that they won't realize until later how small and insignificant they really are. Unfortunately, that will never be my life. I walk past the pretty houses covered in red brick, and head towards my past, present, and future. This is where I belong, among the decrepit houses with the chipped paint and broken shutters. The porch steps are broken and there sure as hell are no welcome mats. Welcome home, darling. No one cares that you're here.

Everyone talks about smoking like it's the worst thing you could do to your body. They tell me the stories and show me the pictures of the black lungs. What they don't realize is that maybe this is what I want to happen. Smoking is a slow suicide that no one suspects as a form of intentional self-harming. I slowly inhale each breath of smoke, knowing all those toxic chemicals floating around in my lungs brings me slightly closer to death. It's flirting with fate, really. It may kill you and it may not, but for me, I just like that it makes me feel something. The burning of my chest, the smell of the burning tobacco, watching the swirling smoke dissipate into the sky, it's beautiful yet tragic.

Home is where the heart is for most, where they feel safe and most comfortable. My house is simply a shelter from the outside. On the couch sits my father with a beer in one hand and a fat cigar in the other. My poor father tries his best, but he is sad man. My mother was a lost soul who never received her saving grace that could have led her back home. She struggled with depression which caused her to develop a deadly drug problem. It was three years ago, but not a single thing has changed since the day we all found out, except we all just got older. My father keeps himself in a haze to drown out reality and quiet his mind from any thoughts that would remind him of what his life has become. He doesn't talk much, usually only to ask what's for dinner or ask me to go the grocery store. At only 17, I had taken on the role of your typical housewife, except with my dark lined eyes and pale pink hair, I was far from the vision of a trophy wife.

"Hey dad," I said not expecting a reply

"What's for dinner?" he grunted back at me, his eyes never leaving the TV.

"Um, I don't know. How about pizza?" I shrugged.

He grunted in response

"Pizza it is, good talk." I said sarcastically and headed for my room.

In my room sits the funniest arrangement of mismatched furniture that one could possibly imagine. A twin sized mattress with a metal bed frame next to pink painted wood side table, an old dresser from a garage sale that looks like it endured the pilgrim times, a small and bulky TV from the 90's that sits on top of a stack of books, and finally, a sliding glass door that opens to my very own personal deck. I thought about putting the TV on the dresser at one point and gently placed this dinosaur of technology on top. Immediately, I heard a loud cracking and popping sound so that idea was officially out and I had to improvise with every book I could find in the house. It's a weird and ugly room, but it's functional and it's mine and that is all I need.

I collapse face first into my bed and let out a long sigh. I look up and see the angel statue that my parents got me as a child. I don't know the name of this angel but I know that this statue represents a real angel that exists. I have always felt connected to this unnamed statue in a way that I cannot describe. He feels like a friend or a mentor that will somehow guide me to my life's purpose. It may or may not be true, but this little ceramic statue gives me hope. His blonde hair and golden wings look very innocent and how most people would imagine an angel would look. I always thought angels would look more like warriors ready for battle, they would be strong and determined, but still very friendly and helpful to the humans. Who really knows kind of spiritual creatures exist that we can't see? I don't judge people by their views on this subject, but for my own sanity, I like to believe there are guiding forces that are all-knowing and created us with our entire lives planned out before our parents had even met.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of crunching leaves bring me a sentimental comfort as my feet mindlessly guide me towards my special place. I've walked this path so many times that I no longer have to count my landmarks to remember the way. Something felt wrong this morning when I awoke. I don't know why, but it felt like that first few hours after an unthinkable tragedy. No one can believe it but you still feel hopeless and vulnerable, even violated. In my dreams last night I saw the same horrific scenes that I have been seeing for years. I am always being chased, sometimes I know what I am running from and sometimes I don't, I just know that if it catches me, I'm done. The worst nightmares end when I do get caught. It usually begins with small cuts that are then extended and turn into sadistic carvings on my body, then comes the stabbing that is meant to end the torture. Dream experts say that people can't feel pain in their sleep, well I call bullcrap. I feel every little sharp cut of the knife as it glides across my skin. Being in the woods helps me find peace after a bad dream, but today I felt disturbed in a way that can only be justified by a real life trauma. I could just be missing my mom, every once in a while I will have a particularly bad day and can't find the motivation to get out of bed. I don't eat or sleep, just lie there emotionless and numb. My tree stump surrounded by moss looked the same as it always has, inviting me to sit and sort through my thoughts. I have grown to appreciate and bond with this small tree stump. I like to think it gets excited every time it sees me coming through the trees, like a dog when its owner comes home. Closing my eyes, I begin my breathing exercises to relax my body and clear my mind. Everything is quiet when suddenly, a droplet of liquid falls on the top of my head and runs down my cheek. _Crap, it's raining, just what I needed right now,_ I say sarcastically to myself. My hand reaches up to my cheek to wipe away the water when my eye catches a hint of red on my fingertip. I do a double-take and stare at my hand in confusion. _Blood, its blood_. But from where? Reluctantly, I slowly lift my gaze up to the trees and let out a heart stopping scream. My body automatically shoots up from where I sat and stands tall but stiff. My entire body was frozen where I stood, I felt all of the blood drain from my face and fall to my feet. I stared unblinking at the mutilated body of a man hanging by his limbs from the trees. The nausea sets in and I realize that I am about to faint. My legs collapse from underneath me and I land on my tree stump that used to bring me comfort and peace of mind. I look at the moss and dirt around my feet and realize there is blood everywhere. A trail that leads from the opposite direction from where I came, shows that the body was dragged and then strung up in the tree where it currently remains. Unable to move, I cover my face with my hands and try to breathe the deepest breaths that I can possibly take. Slowly, I can feel my heart rate come down, and I try to muster up the courage to sit up and allow myself to come back to reality.

"Hello?" a deep voice called from a distance.

I stared in the direction from which I heard the voice. A man, I decide, grown but not old.

"Hey!" he yells again. "Who's out there?"

His voice sounds gruff and aggressive. If it's a cop I am going to run, I think to myself, I am not being framed for this unbelievably brutal murder.

"You, Girl. I can see you. What's going on? Did you see something?" He approaches cautiously with a shotgun aimed and ready to fire.

"I um.." I stuttered, unable to form a complete thought. Instead, I just pointed straight up towards the body.

"ugh, gross." He says almost casually.

"Dean?" I hear another male voice call.

When the other voice finally comes into view, I realize just how attractive these two guys are. If I weren't scarred for life, I would ask them to dinner. The first man was tall with dirty blonde hair and the most beautiful green eyes that I could stare into for hours if that wasn't considered creepy. The other man was intimidatingly tall and muscular with long brown hair a gun strapped to his belt. I finally snap back into reality and realize how stupid I must look to these guys. I watch as they take the body down from the tree and start examining the area for clues. I figure they must by homicide cops, they seem like they know what they're doing.

"Are you Okay?" the tall one asks me.

"Oh, yeah sure. I was just… sitting on my stump." I say trying to sound casual.

"Oh okay..." he looked confused. "Do you have someone to pick you up and take you home?"

For such a big guy, he sure was caring and gentle, especially with those puppy dog eyes.

"I can just walk, it's not far." I gesture over to my usual path.

"wendigo." The blonde one says as he walks over to us and throws some bloody gloves at the other.

"Dean." He taller one says in a chastising tone and tilting his head in my direction.

"What's a wendigo?" I ask.

"Nothing!" the blonde one says in a fake optimistic voice, "Let's just get you home."

They lead my back to a clearing where a shiny, black car is parked. It looks old but very well taken care of. I sit in the back and ask again,

"What's a wendigo? Did it kill that man?"

"Um," they exchange glances, "It's an animal… and yeah it did." The blonde one shrugs.

"By the way, I am Sam, and this is my brother, Dean." Sam smiled but it looked forced.

"Lily." I answer.

"So where are we taking you, Lily?" Dean asks.

"Anywhere but home." I say.


	3. Chapter 3

Kids are taught from a very young age to not get in the car with strangers. Adults assume that kids are safest at home with their parents, unfortunately that is not always the case. In my situation, these strangers could be my saving grace to take me to better life, even if that new life is pretty crappy, anything would be better than my life before. Of course I would never encourage anyone to get in a car with a stranger because of the obvious danger and risk, but right now I don't really care what happens to me.

The sun begins it's descent from the sky and leaves behind a mix of pinks and yellows to make a last memorable farewell until morning. The highway ahead appears to last forever with no hills or curves in the horizon. I've been staring out the window of this impala for hours but I still see the exact same scenery, half-dead grass and a stretch of telephone poles that line the road as far as the eye can see. My eyelids start to get heavy and I can feel myself slipping in and out of awareness. Sam shifts in his passenger's seat to turn around and look back at me,

"Go ahead and stretch out if you want, it might be a couple more hours."

"Just no shoes on the leather." Dean shoots back in a rather convincing dad voice.

I decide to ignore them both and keep staring out the window with my hand supporting my head. I've had plenty of time to think while in the backseat of this car. Sam and Dean are friendly enough, but the reality is that I don't know them or where they could be taking me. Obviously, they are well adjusted to being around gruesome murder scenes, which should be a red flag to anyone with a shred of common sense. They drive in silence but it's not awkward, they are very comfortable being around each other without feeling the need to hold a meaningless conversation. As far as I can tell, this how they naturally behave, not simply because I am here. My eyes suddenly fall closed and refuse to reopen, not that I mind. The sound of the engine and the light rocking of the car hitting small bumps lulls me to sleep.

"What are we doing here, Sam?" Dean says quietly and shakes his head. "We should have sent her home. She's just a kid, if she sticks with us she's going to see a lot worse and probably get herself killed."

"I know, but she didn't want to go anywhere. We're kind of responsible for her now." Sam looks worriedly over at Dean.

"Yeah because that's exactly what we need right now. A punk teenager with pink hair following us around." Dean said and then immediately regretted his harsh words. "I just don't want anyone else to get hurt because of us. We don't know how to take care of kids, I think that's been very obvious in the past."

"So we'll take her to the bunker, let her get some rest and food for a couple days and then we'll drive her back home. It'll be fine." Sam shrugged.

The first sign for miles approaches in the distance, and once it becomes close enough to read, Dean smiles for the first time in days.

"Alright, but first, food."

My eyes flutter open as the car halts to a stop and the doors creak open. I look up and see Sam wave at me from outside the window and point over to the door of small and slightly dirty diner. Inside was decorated like a classic 50's diner with red booths and bar stools, checkered tiles on the walls, a jukebox in the corner playing old school rock music, and unfortunate waitresses in wardrobe dress and roller skates. Sam and Dean are sitting in a corner booth looking serious, which really made them stand out in a place like this. A waitress rolls over to us and does a fancy spin to stop in front of our table.

"What can I get for ya?" She says.

"Bacon Cheeseburger and your number." Dean winked at her.

"Salad for me." Sam hands her his menu.

Everyone looks over at me and I freeze.

"Oh I dunno, I'm okay I guess."

"Come on, you must be starving." Sam gives me his concerned look.

My eyes look down at the table and I mumble, "I don't have any money."

"You really think we would make you pay for yourself? Get her a uh… a double bacon cheeseburger with fries and milkshake." Dean smirks at me with a look that says _you better eat all that too._

After dinner I could only think one thing, Diner food is seriously underrated. That burger was heaven on a bun and nirvana in my mouth. If I could, I would marry that burger and have burger babies, we would be a beautiful burger family. My stomach sticks out as I sit slouched in the backseat. What a weird situation I am in, when I woke up this morning I never could have imagined that this would be the end result of my day. For the first time in weeks, I feel happy, I feel content. I have no idea what's going on and I might still be traumatized from finding the mutilated body of an animal attack, but right now in this very moment, I feel good. I look at these two strange men and I wonder what their lives must be like for this to be normal. They look strong and confident, but at the same time they look they have had all of their happiness sucker punched out of them and now they are forced to fake a smile and make dumb jokes to pretend to be people with a regular range of emotions. They are either very caring people or psychopath serial killers who are now planning my death since they agreed to take a surprise road trip with an emotionally unstable little girl. I guess only time will tell what my final fate will be. Of course I don't worry about when I will die. I think about it a lot actually, not that I am suicidal, but I wonder what would I leave behind? Would anyone be affected by my death? Sure my dad would have to learn how to take care of himself, but would he miss me or just my cooking? The sky turns to black and the stars begin to reveal themselves and offer a tiny bit of light to guide us on our way.


End file.
